


Regarding The Folly Of Youth

by Go0se



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied Lavi/Allen Walker - Freeform, Snapshots, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-31 00:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12120507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Go0se/pseuds/Go0se
Summary: A conversation, shortly after Cross rejoins the Order.





	Regarding The Folly Of Youth

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while I was trying to finish another thing, because of who I am as a person! \o/ Basically I thought of how Cross and Bookman both knew Neah the last time he was alive, so they probably knew each other to some degree. Also, I really dislike Cross as a character, so it was a good exercise to see if I could get in his head.  
> Featuring everyone's favourite setting, After The Ark But Before The "You're A Noah, Allen" Talk.
> 
>  
> 
> \--

Cross hadn't been back in the Order twelve hours and he’d already had enough of the whole damn place and everyone in it. He’d waited until nightfall, then had headed outside to smoke. He'd taken back stairwells and out-of-the-way hallways so he'd be less disturbed, and when he'd gotten to the nearest exit to the remote place he'd spied on the map, he'd let out a sigh in relief.

When he stepped outside, however, he paused. He took a second to curse his luck.

  
The Bookman was already there.

 

Dismayed, but never one to avoid a confrontation, Cross had strode casually over to him. He settled into a comfortable lean against the wall behind the bench, upon which the Bookman sat. “Have a light, do you?” Cross grunted.  
He could see the Bookman’s eyes slide towards him without expression, shielded slightly by the smoke drifting up from the pipe caught in his mouth. His withered hands unfolded from within his robe's sleeves and produced a matchbook.  
“Obliged.” Cross took one and then handed the book back. He scraped the match on the stone wall behind him and lit up his own cigarette, sighing gratefully as the end caught red.

The Bookman accepted the matches back with as little reaction as he’d offered it.

 

They smoked in silence for a while.

 

“So,” Cross drawled around his third cigarette. “Is your Junior fucking all the other Exorcists, or just my stupid apprentice?”  
The two were trying to be subtle about it, of course--Cross had gifted the boy with at least that much sense-- but it was still starkly obvious. He wasn’t one to go for men, but he could admit that the junior Bookman was handsome. His apprentice, it seemed, had developed a sense of taste. Cross smirked to himself. _As it were._  
  
When the Bookman didn’t respond, Cross scoffed. “Oh, come now. There is no way on Heaven or Earth that you haven’t noticed.”  
Without looking at him the Bookman sighed. “Of course I have,” he said, voice dry as a well in winter.  
“And?” Cross pressed.  
The Bookman pulled out his matches again. “This assignment has been particularly strenuous,” he allowed. “He’s let himself get far too fond of the others.” The old man’s wrinkled non-expression shifted to a scowl for a second, before it evaporated as he inhaled his pipe tobacco. “Still, being ‘Lavi’ has been good for his education. We’ve learned much from observing here. As to your question, no; him and the boy are the only two that share that particular bond.”

“Hmm.” Cross flicked some ashes onto the ground. “But you don’t regret your decision to expose him to the Order at all.”  
“No.” The Bookman’s tone was firm and quiet. “His current persona may override his good sense at some points, but I have all confidence that he’ll be able to move on from ‘Lavi’ when called for. He has great skill at letting go of emotional attachments.” He paused, his glance sliding backwards again. “I suppose he shares that with you.”  
Cross stilled for a second, then inclined his head very slightly in acknowledgement.

 

He hadn’t had the discussion with Allen yet. He couldn’t put it off forever, he knew; the Fourteenth would begin to awaken whether Allen knew or not, and besides, Central had been pushing for Cross to speak with the boy for days. It would be soon, now.  
Way back when he'd first made the promise to The Fourteenth, and then again when he'd first found the boy, he'd been so confident he was in the right. The last couple years... Cross had become less certain. Sometimes, despite his snark to the Bookman, he wondered if he regretted exposing his own apprentice to the Order.  
Was a decades-old debt really worth Allen's life?  
But of course, it wasn't just a debt. It was the end of the war. Cross would freely admit to being a selfish bastard, but not quite  _that_ much of one.

 

He tried to keep smoking. The tobacco tasted bitter.

He cursed quietly, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out with more violence than was needed.  
The Bookman sat with his pipe in his hand, face turned to the starry sky. He didn’t seem bothered by the stamping or swearing at all, but then, he never did.  
Finally satisfied that the troublesome item was no longer smouldering, Cross put his hand to his forehead and stifled a grimace. He was going to go inside, he decided, and he was going to drink until sunrise.

  
“To your evening,” he said to the Bookman, stepping out from behind the bench so the old man could see him properly.  
Bookman turned his head and gave him precisely one nod. Then he gazed upwards again.

Cross made his way back to his room with his hands in his coat pockets, staring holes into the ground.


End file.
